From Mercy to Char
by Dv4021
Summary: Short story on the events that happend during the drive from Mercy to Char. WARNING contains spoilers from GOW3!


No one said anything on the long ride to Char. Not that anyone had noticed. Sam sat hunched in the back of the pick-up almost staring straight through the metal gridding beneath her. Every so often a swell of tears would build up in her throat and despite her best efforts so push the swollen lump back down, a few salty tears had started to run down her cheeks, leaving her skin feeling cold against the wind. She hadn't cried in more than a year, and never in front of fellow Gears. Yet she couldn't care about any form of embarrassment or self-loathing right now.

Jace and Dizzy sat upfront; Jace had his head resting against the back of the cab for most of the journey, neck crooked back and staring straight ahead. Occasionally closing his eyes and scrunching up his face letting a deep, shaky sigh leave his lungs. Dizzy tried to concentrate on the road but every so often had to remind himself that he was driving at all. His mind was racing and replaying the young Gears death over and over. He'd helped the kid out on many occasions. Seeing men die on the battlefield wasn't a new experience to any Gear. But a man willing to sacrifice his life to aid others – hell, that was something else! Dizzy would never forget the sacrifice Santiago had made for him or the rest of Delta, never he promised.

Anya stood leaning against the high sides of the pick-up, right at the tail end of the truck. She stood limp, her arms loose at her sides, she barley had a grip on her hammerburst but had looked down turning the gun to its side slightly ensuring the safety was on in case it slid from her grasp. Every time the truck jolted or bounced her body swung with the motion, unable to keep her body poised against the movements. She tried to decipher what she felt, if she felt anything at all? It was more of an empty feeling, still in complete shock and drained of all her energy. Questions kept flying through her mind; she tried to slow down, think and answer them logically but then another question would plague her before she'd answered the first one. What would happen now? How was Marcus going to cope? What if he can't find a way lead delta anymore? Who would take charge then? How can she possibly comfort him? Would he ever even talk about it? She turned her body around slowly to face him at the front of the truck. Her eyes cast over his form trying to pick out any indication of how he was feeling. Her oldest friend, her sergeant, the person she cared about more than anyone, or anything on Sera. She felt a wave of emotion pass through her body, too ridden with her own grief to cry or attempt comfort him.

Marcus hadn't noticed her gaze, he just stood staring straight ahead at the horizon eyes glazed over and deep in thought. If the car suddenly took off he'd probably not have noticed it. No one could have guessed his brother had just died, not even a slight hint or suggestion of grief lay across his stoney features. Yet inside his senses seemed to have shut down, a deep ache penetrated inside his chest and left his neck and legs feeling heavy. He'd felt this weight once before, a mix of bereavement, anger, tribulation and a whole wealth of guilt. He just stood there, still and heavy. In his hands he gripped his lancer, safety off. Years of working on the front line had made sure he was armed and ready at all times, aware of it or not it was force of habit. His eyes and mind only re-focussed when he caught a glimpse of Char in the distance. He couldn't work out how long it had been since they'd left Mercy and Dom behind. He could hardly believe they'd already reached their destination, yet it felt like days had passed over the same amount of hours. He gathered his thoughts, he reminded himself he still had a squad to lead. He'd be dammed if he let another one of them die! Dom had died to let them live, died to defend the rest of delta who weren't even under his command. He'd promised Carlos so many years ago that he would look after him and now he had failed. _There's no time to dwell on this now _he thought taking a deep breath nostrils flaring. They needed fuel and he was going get them some. He knew one thing for certain; he sure as hell didn't want any sympathy from the others, everyone was dealing with this loss. He needed to keep his composure for the others. What use was he going to be as deltas guide if he couldn't look after himself, chin-up he had no choice. He was still the sergeant, always their leader and never going to let his guard down.


End file.
